(Based on "Emo Boy" by Ayesha Erotica)

"He looks so sick like he was dying. If I said he wasn't hot, then I'd be lying. Please, handsome, don't be coy. Come on, fuck me, emo boy"

You'd be lying to yourself if you said he wasn't cute, your attention fluttering to the side every so often to catch a glimpse of him, watching as he idly scanned through the clothing racks. With another glance, -that was anything but subtle- you take in his lanky frame, eyeing him up like he was the sweetest piece of eye candy you've ever seen.

He was all dressed up in black, the only other colors being his bright red Converse and matching striped sleeves, his earlobes decorated with pointy silver studs, a few scabs on his neck covered by a thin choker, and that deathly pale face obscured by soft blue puffs of hair. However, this time he catches your gaze, a scar-ridden face being revealed to you when he looks over.

"Can I help you?" He mutters, voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard as he shoots a deadly glare.